Breaking Away
by Deidamea
Summary: She shined so beautifully, like a morning flower not yet opened that he yearned to touch and unfold. Alas, a war is never the right place nor time to be feeling such things, as he is about to find out.
1. Chapter 1 Her Dark Light

**

* * *

Breaking Away**

By Deidamea

Disclaimer: Though my fantasies tell me otherwise, all the character's, places, etc. are Tolkien's.

**

* * *

Chapter I**

Legolas walked lightly down the hall, his feet never making the slightest of sound against the hard stone floor. At first glance, an onlooker would think him weaponless, but any who knew the elf would not be so easily fooled. His cloak moved in sync with every step, allowing the tiniest glimpse of two gleaming daggers strapped to his belt. No doubt some were also concealed in his boots and under his leather wrist-guards.

However, his back was bare of the usual bow and quiver. Even the twin blades were missing.

The elven prince seemed deeply taken by his thoughts. His brow was drawn, a slight shadow burning in the depths of his startling bright blue eyes. Something was bothering him. It looked as though nothing could reach him.

Something did. And it was thoroughly unsettling for the collected, poised warrior.

Her voice still flowed like a haunting melody in his mind. So gentle and soft, like a song in a sleepy child's ear. A lullaby. Yet the words had felt like torture on her lips, the rises and falls like red-hot steel sizzling against her skin. Such a pained combination of darkness and light, two traits only she was capable of weaving so perfectly together.

Legolas passed the bowing royal guards with a slight nod of acknowledgement, intent on getting to his rooms as swiftly as possible. It had been days since the decency of a warm bath had been offered to him, and he was not about to let it escape him, no matter what thoughts raked his mind.

He felt filthy. Not only from dirt, grime and blood; his soul yearned to be cleaned. Many dark things he had witnessed that he only wished would wash away with the water.

Starting with the recent death of the King's son.

He hadn't known him, but his passing wounded the elf prince to an unbelievable degree. His grief was almost as strong as the one he felt for Boromir's death. Some would wonder at such an unexpected reaction, but Legolas was not used to death, be it close or far from him. The ones he had seen as of yet were of some dear to his heart. However, the time for grieving had not been allowed, and no proper rites could be performed for either the Man, or Gandalf, who was thankfully back.

But standing there, in a pool of pure, unhindered sorrow, where the main purpose of the ceremony was to honour the dead son of a King, had struck him harder than he was prepared for. The pain he felt emanating from all these people had overwhelmed the elf and cracked the walls of his heart. Never had he had to witness the torture of those left behind, of families, friends and followers.

And he sincerely hoped the experience would not be repeated any time soon.

The naked despair on Lady Éowyn's face had torn at his soul, blood gushing from the open wound and mixing with her own. Singing a lament, she had gazed up from the body laid at her feet, straight into the elven prince's lost eyes. She had seemed to draw strength enough from him to stand through the rest of the funeral, though he did not know what she had seen that could ignite such courage as she had shown.

Legolas froze as he walked past a door. From inside came the same voice that had haunted him all day long. Yet, sorrow was not anymore shadowing its edges. It was only rising and falling softly, and casting an entirely different spell over him.

His eyes caught the guilty door, barely opened by a crack. Just enough to tease him with wisps of light and sound.

The elf was unable to control his feet as they led him to stand by the door. He unconsciously leaned forward, resting his head on the frame, a palm flat against the wood, hesitating.

The song softened, and finally came to an end. Legolas, however, heard the rustling of clothes and light footsteps that could only belong to a woman. As his keen ears caught every sound to the tiniest, a scene forged itself behind his closed lids. A child's voice, all mumbles and slurs. A gentle, motherly tone. Bare feet against stone. Silk against linen. A muffled protest. A bed creaking. The gentle brush of lips to skin. Whispers of tenderness.

And then, nothing. Silence.

Legolas' nails bit into the wood as he tried to pick this stillness apart. Breaths reached his ears. Short breaths. A child was sleeping, small lungs compensating in speed what they could not in width. He could catch a rapid heartbeat too. Even in rest, the child was afraid. No matter how much comfort she was given, nothing would sooth her mind until the arms of her mother were tight around her frail form again.

Tearing his attention away from the little girl, he made out another breathing sound, this one much slower and controlled.

It was her.

He needed no more to recognise the White Lady of Rohan.

Overall, she sounded no different than a thousand other maidens. That was if you had not the ears and sensitive aura of an elf. Legolas could tell her apart by the slightly harsh way air rushed in and out of her lungs, as if she needed to remind herself how to breathe. The rhythm of her heart was different also. It sounded strained, hammering in the confinements of a too tight chest.

The elf stumbled back when the silence was suddenly broken and cautious footsteps came in his direction.

Looking wildly around, he felt the beginnings of panic gnaw at his mind. The hall was bare, and no crook appeared large enough to house him.

He did not stop to wonder at how very unlike him this behaviour was. His eyes caught sight of a darkened space up the way he came, shadowed by a stone pillar. Beyond it was a very narrow window, and the elf swiftly hid behind the column, just as the door opened. There was dark green velvet curtain sheltering part of the opening, and he prayed his light hair wouldn't stand out against it.

She stepped out.

She was still wearing that same black dress. But what really got his attention was that her strictly braided hair was now unbound, the golden circlet and candle light revealing bright gems nestled in her long locks. They sparkled with every move she made, sensually flowing down to her hips.

The elf drew in a sharp breath at the sight she made, immediately regretting such a rash action when her head snapped in his general direction. He held it in, feeling his chest constrict with the effort. Yet his eyes remained transfixed by her, refusing to look away, despite the fair amount of chances that she might see them glittering in the dark.

**oooOooo**

Éowyn tried to pierce the shadows down the hall, but all stood still and calm. She sighed. Probably just a figment of her imagination again. There was no one there.

Casting one last look over her shoulder at the sleeping Freda, she hurried down the hall, away from the lingering shadows and the way they made her skin crawl. Her mind was saying there was nothing, but she couldn't get rid of the overwhelming sense of being watched, read, detailed, calculated.

And she hated it.

Éowyn turned the corner and felt the pressure lessen on the back of her neck. She looked behind once more, but there was nothing to see.

**oooOooo**

Legolas let his air out when she disappeared around the corner, ignoring the sharp tug of his heart which told him to follow her.

No. He had seen the discomfort in her eyes when she had looked his way. He did not want to frighten her.

He walked up to where she had last stood and took a peek through the still ajar door. The room was not dark as Éowyn had left a few candles lighted for the sake of the child

The elf silently walked in, forgetting all about his very much desired bath, and stopped by the child's bed. He couldn't help but smile tenderly at the way this little being looked in such a large bed. The sheets were already tangled in wild knots around her agitated sleeping form, straw coloured hair sprawled wildly around her head. She slept on her stomach, one arm tucked safely under her while the other hung limply from the edge of the bed. The elf had no doubt she would soon be sideways in it, if not upside down. He grinned at the adorable child.

Not knowing what urged him to do so, he kneeled by the bed and laid his head beside her pillow, so that he was facing her decidedly stubborn frown. Chuckling quietly, he pushed the tingling hair culprits from under her scrunched nose and the wrinkles smoothed out instantly.

Legolas was at peace. The human child, Freda he thought was her name, had a wonderfully innocent aura that washed away a good part of his worries, helping to diminish the tension in his ever alert limbs.

He allowed his eyes to drift shut for the first time in months. Oh, he had slept a few times over the journey, but always had he remained sharp and ready to spring. Elven sleep was but only a physical rest. The mind stayed up and about, though it usually swept through dreamland. The elf had not permitted himself to dream since the beginning of the quest.

And here, he felt like he could.

Sighing, he looked to the child, knowing he could not fall asleep here. Not only would he make his friends worry as to his whereabouts, but the poor girl would most likely not be thrilled if she might wake up to stare straight into his glazed over eyes.

But he was reluctant in leaving the peace her purity gave him. So instead, he sat himself in the chair not far, and kept his eyes on her, watching her sleep.

Maybe he might even keep her nightmares away, he thought wistfully.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2 Perfect

**

* * *

Breaking Away **

By Deidamea

**

* * *

Chapter II **

The following day found the elf up before the break of dawn, rested and clean. Maybe not as clean as he would have hoped, but as much as was possible.

He wondered, as he stared at his reflection in the still waters of the basin, if this war would leave permanent marks on him. Would these circles under his eyes remain, or wash away like every other scar he would sport, were he a mortal?

Legolas frowned at the many weary lines that should not become one of the Firstborn. Even his glow had diminished, leaving his skin somewhat ashen and dull.

He tore his gaze away from the treacherous water before encountering his hollow eyes, and pulled his clothes on, discarding the outer tunic for breakfast. He was always more at ease with only the silken shirt. It was lighter.

The elf was not, however, a foolish being. Far from it.

He strapped his belt on, not forgetting his two faithful daggers. He wasn't trying to hide them from view or anything; these men were already scared of him, so it was sufficient for them to know that he was armed.

On his way to breakfast, Legolas couldn't help the frown from marring his brow. How men had managed to turn elves into cunning, evil spell weavers, he wouldn't know. It was as far from the truth as one got. Musing on it a little, he realised that it was probably merely fear of the unknown that brought these silly beliefs to men.

He swallowed another sigh, finding that he indulged in them much more often these days, and pushed the King's Hall door open.

Aragorn was there, seated exactly where Legolas had left him the night before. He wondered if the man had moved at all.

Probably not.

The ranger lifted weary eyes to him, and half smiled before dropping his gaze back down to a blackened piece of bread.

"You should have rested, Aragorn," said the Elf in a quiet voice, sitting across from his friend.

"I couldn't," replied the Man, looking back up. "But I can tell I am not the only one who has troubles finding peace enough to sleep."

Legolas almost smiled. He had been caught.

Just because he saw the signs of his own decrepitude didn't mean most people were able to spot them. Especially since those who were used to the sight of elves were a rarity amongst the rarest. Aragorn, predictably, had immediately picked up on it. The elf could not hide from him.

"Ay," said Legolas, trying not to sigh. "My mind is restless."

Aragorn tried to read the elf, no matter how impossible it always turned out to be. He looked like a mess. For elven standards, that is, because he still was far above looking like Aragorn had during his best days in Rivendel. The ever shining length of his hair was considerably dulled, the long locks falling unusually limply around his head. His cheeks were a bit more gaunt then a few months back, though that was excusable seeing as they had been running low on food supplies for a long time. Even elves needed to eat from time to time.

The man raised a questioning eyebrow when he witnessed the conscious effort of the elf to increase his failing glow. He knew what Aragorn was doing, and didn't like it. But the little light he gathered, as much as it did hide the greyish tone of his skin, was not enough to cover up his eyes.

"What ails you, my friend?" asked the Man, even if he knew it would get him nowhere. Legolas was very private and did not open easily.

"Nothing," was the expected answer. "It would be my guess that this quest might be wearing me down, as it does us all."

Aragorn nodded, disappointed, but knowing it was useless to hope for more.

"I do hope King Théoden will seriously consider Gandalf's advices," Aragorn picked absentmindedly at the dried bread as he changed the subject, much to the elven prince's relief.

"I fear that there is no use talking with him," replied the Elf. "The King is a stubborn man. Long have his people fought by themselves and came out victorious. He is likely to follow the path already carved and lead the way to Helm's Deep."

The words fell like a ton of bricks on the table between them. Aragorn's eyes widened. He hadn't thought of that. While he had guessed the King would be a hard man to convince, he had not given much thought to what might happen should these negotiations fail.

"But it would be folly!" he cried, springing from his seat and starting to pace. "They would run away from the enemy, open their backs to his attacks, and even back themselves in a corner with no way out!"

Legolas followed the agitated man for a short while in silence.

"It might sound hopeless to you, but Rohan places great expectations in their unbreechable fortress," he mused. "It has protected them in many times of need, and they will not want to acknowledge that, while the Fort is strong, it is but stone and walls."

Aragorn had stopped, and looked the elf deep in the eye.

"Nothing is unbreakable," he murmured softly, his face set in stone.

Legolas nodded back.

"It is worse than we feared then," added the Man. "Even out of Saruman's reach, Théoden would still run head first into his trap."

"It might seem as so, but it is not hopeless," came a voice from the doorway.

Both elf and man turned to see Gandalf standing in the doorway.

"And while it might seem so to us," he continued while stepping in the large room, his white robes silently sweeping the flagstones, "Helm's Deep has saved them on countless times. The men are convinced of its power, and might find themselves stronger while fighting from within its keep."

Legolas thought on these words. It is something he hadn't seen. Soldiers who believed they were strong were usually stronger. Fate and hope could make up for lacking numbers in any battle. The strongest of hearts weighed heavily in a balance of life and death.

Gandalf took Aragorn's seat, leaning his staff against the table just as a maid entered the hall through a back door. She froze for a second, not having expected any early birds amongst the guests, but quickly regained her wits and hurriedly started depositing her load on their table. A bowl of fruits, more bread that looked much fresher than Aragorn's, and cheese. The maid did a few trips of the like, coming back every time with more delicious looking food, and the hall slowly started to awakened at the sweet smell of breakfast.

King Théoden was the first to arrive, looking as though he had aged a century during the night. He probably hadn't found sleep either.

He nodded at them but did not smile, his face grudgingly set in a mask of stone.

Not a few minutes later, he was joined by his niece, coming through the main doors in a flurry of cream-coloured skirts, the two children from yesterday in her wake.

Legolas bore a secret smile at the sight of Freda, but it went unnoticed. The child looked much better then yesterday. Éowyn had her and her brother cleaned and dressed properly. The child met his eyes and stopped walking. There was recognition in them, although she had slept soundly through his whole watch. The elf sent her a gentle smile, which she answered confusedly before Éowyn pulled her along to the head table.

He tried to fight it, but her very being attracted his eyes like two glowing fireflies in the dead of the night.

Her hair was free, much to the exhilaration of a strange twist in his heart. She truly had most beautiful hair; long, wavy, soft as a cloud. It flowed behind her like a curtain of gold, catching every little spark of light and returning it tenfold. And the warmth emanating from her crown only did bring out the startling whiteness of her skin. Her cheeks so pale that they almost looked cold to the touch, she was as a snowflake bathed in sunlight. Entrancing, icy, but so very warm when the wind died down.

He watched, his breath catching in his throat when a delicate arm appeared between the folds of her split, bell-shaped sleeve, moving to tug the young boy's hair away from the food he was inhaling. The gesture was soft and motherly, strangely fitting her drawn character.

**oooOooo**

Éowyn sat by her King, the food before her laying untouched as she fussed a bit over the two children which had been placed in her care. She was a bit uncomfortable, something prickling in the roots of her awareness, swaying her mind from her protesting stomach.

It was as the night before.

Who or whatever was the cause of it, she had no idea, but she dared not look around, in fear of coming face to face with her own demons.

The lady shook these dark thoughts away. This feeling, though still unsettling, was nothing like the constant fear of every shadow, every crook where he could have been spying.

A shudder ran down her back. Gríma Wormtongue. Of all the dreadful, cunning creatures she hated, he was amongst the worst. All her life, he had haunted her every steps, watching, waiting. For what? She did not want to know. He had induced nightmares filled with shapeless fears in her young mind, kept her up for long, chilly nights, and forged an indelible scar of distrust in her heart.

No. Although she was absolutely certain of being watched, there was no greed, no filthy obsession in it.

Gathering enough strength, Éowyn lifted her gaze from Éothain's head, and swept it across the wide room. She caught none too many stares directed her way, but all looked sharply away, some even sporting the beginnings of a blush.

Her blank green eyes landed lastly on the guests' table, instantly drawn to the tall, dark-haired man leaning on a pillar beside it.

Her heart filled with a wondrous sense of awe as a tingling knot formed itself in the pits of her stomach. He was the perfect impersonation of strength and wisdom, power flowing from the very pores of his skin, demanding respect. Yet, his eyes were weary and sad, even insecure at times.

Éowyn knew this man would set great things in motion. She knew who he was.

But it was not the power that fascinated her. It was the man. She yearned to unwind the mysteries clouded in the depths of his soul, the ones that made his eyes so soft and gentle. She wanted to trace every battle scars, from those earned by the sword to the darker memories of hardships passed.

She was not aware that a good part of her mask had fallen away, revealing misty green pools, and when he turned to her, she, as so many just a few moments ago, ripped her eyes away, feeling heat rise up her neck.

He had smiled.

And she had missed the pained realisation that grew in an entirely different pair of shadowed eyes.

**oooOooo**

It was much later that they found themselves once again in the throne room, in a last attempt to bend the King's will to their own. It revealed useless as Théoden's mind was already set on a course of action.

They would head for Helm's Deep.

The people needed to pack up swiftly to depart the following morning.

**oooOooo**

Legolas headed down to the stables, sourly disappointed about this new insight of the race of Men he had just been granted, but determined to hide it, as he did everything else.

It was almost noon, and he had managed to only look at her twice. Quite an accomplishment considering they had worked side by side all morning. The elf was glad to have something to occupy his hands. That way, his thoughts had less chances of straying too far. Now was not the time to indulge in self-pity. Or worse. He had been gathering as much food and water as could be carried on the hurried expedition, which was not much, until a young boy had come seek him with a message from Aragorn.

And thus, he was heading for the stables, trying to ignore the stares he attracted on his way. Of course, these people had never seen an elf, but that was no excuse to stare suspiciously, or even scowl at him!

He almost sighed in relief once he reached the cooling shadows of the stables, but wasted no time and walked to the familiar voices.

Gandalf was atop Shadowfax, looking down meaningfully at Aragorn.

"...Look to my coming at first light of the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East," caught the Elf before the wizard and his proud mount rode past him and galloped swiftly across the plains below.

Legolas turned questioning eyes to the ranger.

"Gandalf has a plan of his own," muttered the Man. "And we're to follow the King to Helm's Deep."

The Elf nodded. It was a much as he had expected.

"Well, then laddies," exclaimed Gimli, who had joined them just as the wizard disappeared, "let us not waste time, and get these people moving."

**oooOooo**

He stood over his last victim, a foul being of hate and utter distortion.

An orc.

Slowly, as no more came to taste the sting of his arrows, the elf felt his blood cool down. He still ached, but it could no longer be seen by others.

Many of the surviving men were looking at him with fear, awe or respect in their eyes, having witnessed an elf in the midst of battle for the first, and maybe the last time.

Legolas had been overly rash and cruel. Not that the stinking beasts did not deserve his wrath, but he had uselessly taken his anger and pent up frustrations out on them when he knew his first arrow had undoubtedly killed them on the spot.

He hadn't been able to help it. He could still feel the red-hot pain branding him a fool. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again, the way she smiled, the way her whole face shined with unhindered adoration.

All for another.

He had witnessed the first, timid buds of her quickly blooming feelings one day before departure. Éowyn had looked right past him, and the darkness around her had visibly dissipated.

Legolas knew from the beginning that he was being unreasonable. After all, no matter what her appearance told his eyes, she was still a human. Nothing would ever spring from this one-sided fascination. He knew elves and humans did not mix on a regular basis, even though he had grown to know and love two people in such a tie. But the sight of Éowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, had splintered his belief, making him see possibilities he would not have dared before. And she had proved to him just how ridiculous he was to hope, when her eyes went right to Aragorn, never stopping to consider him.

It hurt. It really did. To heighten expectations, he knew now, would only worsen the fall.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to feel jealousy at the man. Aragorn was more than a brother, and never would Legolas even think of holding any sort of grudge towards him, especially when the actions were unconscious. The elf could clearly see that the ranger had no idea what kind of fire he had kindled in her.

Strapping his bow back in place, he cast a look around, immediately catching sight of Gimli, pulling himself from under an impressive heap of dead wargs and orcs with much curses and swears.

Legolas smirked at the scene, feeling a bit lightened, like every time he stood in the dwarf's presence. His simple, direct behaviour had a way of soothing his greatest worries into nothingness. For that, he was ever grateful to the dwarf, no matter what his kind might think of them.

The company moved out, placing the wounded on horses and swiftly riding across the plains. The men were driven both by need of tending and fear of another attack.

Thankfully, none befell them and they safely crossed the gates to Helm's Deep, welcomed by a sea of haunted eyes.

The people of Rohan.

The elf ripped his eyes away when she marched through the gathered crowd and threw her arms around the ranger's neck, tears of relief caught like drops of morning dew in her lashes.

Instead, he dismounted and helped Gimli down, before setting to the rough task of taking the wounded to healers.

The dwarf watched his elf-friend, once more startled by this new coldness. For a while now, Legolas had shown sides of him none were used to, and it worried him.

But he said nothing, knowing it was not his place, and more than sure his caring would not be appreciated. After all, who ever heard of a dwarf enquiring about an elf's well being?

But just as Legolas was about to enter a door at the top of the stairs, Gimli caught him sparing one searching glimpse down. There was something there, a torturing sense of self-inflicted restraint, a shadow lurking.

And as he followed it, his eyes landed on Aragorn, smiling down at the White Lady of Rohan.

When Gimli looked up again, Legolas had vanished.

* * *

AN: Just a short note to say that I did not throw Aragorn off the cliff because, in the books, it did not happen. It has nothing to do with being obsessed with the book's storyline; I just like this scene better this way, even if I know it could have been a great way to spark something between Éowyn and Legolas. No no no… not yet! You'll have to wait! 

Later on, I'll use some of the added parts from the movie, so this is kind of a mix between the books and the movies' interpretation.

Thank you guys for reviewing! I hope I can keep up!


	3. Chapter 3 Be My Angel

**

* * *

Breaking Away**

By Deidamea

**

* * *

Chapter III**

A shadow lurked in the East. They could all feel it.

After two days of idle arguments, pacing and stomping, Théoden King had finally agreed to send some scouts in the vicinity. He feared what news they might bring back, but could not stand to ignore his enemy's whereabouts. Especially now that Grima had undoubtedly run back to his master and spat what precious knowledge of Rohan's defences and weaknesses he had gathered.

Éowyn frowned. The man that now sat on the throne was different from the one she'd grown to know and called uncle. Saruman's hold had left much more damage in its wake than she'd first allowed herself to see. Théoden was a proud man, a King in every aspect of the word. She should not be so surprised that his own failures in the face of evil would come back to haunt him.

For that is what she saw. A haunted man; eyes ever veiled and frightened of something far worse than what lurked in the darkness of Mordor.

Himself.

Shouldering yet another sack of oats, the maiden pushed these despairing thoughts out of her mind, and cautiously made her way down the slippery stone staircase that led into the Caves.

Most of what had been saved by either them or people from the outer villages was already sorted and stocked along the glittering walls. Everyone had worked together, from her uncle's warriors to the youngest able children.

And yet, as she took in their reserves, she couldn't believe how little there was. No more than a few weeks worth of supplies, and that was if it was carefully rationed.

With a heavy sigh, she dropped her last load of the day, and dusted her hands onto the brown linen of her dress. She carefully stretched the abused muscles of her back and arms, looking around the Caves as she did.

People. Hundreds of them, gathered in small groups or families. In all this sea of eclectic colours and faces, fear was still prominently evident everywhere her eyes landed.

How could these children ever rise and bloom in such shadowed times? They did not deserve the horrors that befell them.

Her mind suddenly came to an abrupt halt as a most unsettling couple appeared at the foot of the stairs.

After a few moments of stunned gaping, Éowyn allowed a tender smile to grace her lips. There was an unbelievably heart warming sense of opposition to the careful way he held her.

With silent steps, she trudged her way up to them, never noticing that her smile was still in place, nor the awed look she received from her own people due to the exquisite light she generously poured around herself.

**oooOooo**

The elf walked out of the throne room, leaving behind this King he was more and more starting to doubt.

The scouts were back. And not with the expected good news.

Isengard had been emptied, and an army of ten thousand was now marching over the lands of Rohan, headed straight for the confines of Helm's Deep. And yet, the fool of a man was still stubbornly refusing to admit his great fortress might fail.

Orcs were brainless mountains of greed and gore, but these weren't orcs, to begin with, and the cunning Saruman held their minds in the crook of his arms. He was no witless worm to underestimate.

And here, the King of Rohan was doing just that.

Rashness, overconfidence and foolish bravado were the only things Legolas saw in this leader. They were often considered qualities among Men, though the concept evaded him. How could a people trust or follow one so inexperienced?

But that was the curse of mankind; being born to die. He guessed it explained much of their characters. When one saw the inevitable end coming, what use was there in thinking every action through. Why not simply act since, in a way or the other, the end would still ring with the same fatality.

The elven prince shook these dark images away. Not all humans were thoughtless, he reminded himself. But Aragorn, though not immortal, did have the gift of longevity. His actions and decisions were, somewhat, more calculated, more definite.

In some aspects of life…

Arwen.

Not so long ago, Legolas had been standing on the other side of the line with those who did not understand what they shared. He had prided himself in reminding both of them that there could only be pain and regret out of this love.

And this day, it was he that felt remorseful and ashamed. All throughout his life, if there was something he could erase, it would be the harsh words he spoke against the happiness of two beings dear to his heart.

Stopping his leisure walk, never minding the group of children that kept pointing his way and talking in hush tones, he leaned his elbows on the balustrade, looking out over the misty lands surrounding the Fort. His head dropped involuntarily and, for the first time, he wondered at his own sanity. Never before had any of his feelings felt inadequate or out of place. He considered himself expressive for an elf, and did not fear emotions. Rather, he used them.

But now, they had strayed from the road and seemed intent on threading an unknown path.

It frightened him.

Legolas couldn't help but shudder as he tried to take it all in. She fascinated him, yes, but not only in the ways of mere curiosity. A mystery, that was what she was to eyes he thought had seen all there was to see. But he wanted more than to expose her secrets.

He wanted her.

He wanted her to look at him the way she looked at Aragorn. He wanted to be the cause of that glowing smile on her lips, or that twinkle of joy in her eyes. He yearned to simply have her close enough so that her lovely sent of jasmine would engulf him all.

And this irrationality brought a new light to humanity.

Was this how they felt?

She was mortal. She would die.

No matter how loud he made these thoughts resound through his head, his heart never listened.

Well then, it replied, go to her before it is too late. Enjoy that spark while it lasts.

Stop musing and act…

His heart had definitely grown a new personality. This was not him. Despite being much quicker of actions and words than most of his people, that just wasn't the elf he knew.

He let out a soft groan. This was getting out of hand. He needed to refocus his mind.

Times were too dark for feelings like these.

With a tremendous effort, he managed to push all thoughts of her out of his head, and slipped on the blank mask he usually wore.

The children were still there, staring wide eyed at him when he turned around. Children were innocent, he thought. And in fact, there was nothing suspicious or wary in their eyes, only curiosity and wonder.

They were still very young, he decided. Soon, as they would bloom into adulthood, they would also start to fear him. Fear him because he was not human, because he possessed strengths and weaknesses that were estranged to their kind. And they would tell stories of the dangerous race of elves to their own children, and so on, until the Firstborn would become but a myth of magic and tales.

What a pity.

Addressing the group a gentle smile, he went on his way, unable to help the smile from spreading slightly as he heard them start to speak all at once as soon as they believed him to be out of earshot.

As proof that they knew very little about elves.

He was but around the corner, their words as clear as if he'd been standing among them.

But he did not linger, deciding that finding the others was a bit higher on his list than listening to gossip. They should be back into the quarters King Théoden had gracefully given his three guests.

However, he never made it half way to the room.

He was just passing one of those dark, seemingly endless staircases that went up into the highest grounds of the fortress, when his ears caught a tiny sound on the breeze.

A light breath of air, restrained, but still slightly louder than it should have been. Was that a sniffle?

Frowning, he turned his eyes to the stairs, but there was nothing that he could see.

He could have gone on and forget he had even heard anything. It was probably nothing, really, his mind was saying. But some other part of him was pricked. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

Legolas threaded his way silently up the winding stairs, his feet never even making a brushing sound against the polished stone. As he went higher, the light grew dimmer, but the sound became clearer until he was able to pinpoint it precisely.

Crying.

Very soft, muffled sobs and hiccups. And, if his ears were as keen as he prided himself in thinking, the elf knew exactly who he would find as the source.

Indeed, there she was, huddled beside the door at the top, her little form shaking violently with the sobs she desperately tried to quiet down. Her hands were fisted in the material of her skirt, her knees drawn to her chest and her head buried into them.

Legolas felt his heart wrench at the scene. Slowly, he stepped closer, when he suddenly realised that she would most likely be scared. Careful not to be too close, he made his footfalls louder, sighing when she did not acknowledge.

Obviously, his mind berated him. This is not some stealthy warrior with an eye and ear always open, but a crying little girl indulged in her own world.

Finally, when he purposefully kicked some pebbles, her head snapped up. If it was possible, his heart went out to her even more. Her eyes were wide and swollen, red rimming them, and tear tracks were painfully obvious on her dirt stained cheeks.

For a second, Freda looked ready to spring, but then, her eyes adjusted enough to the remote darkness, and she saw him.

She should have felt fear. She did not know this man… elf.

Yet she felt only peace.

The little girl stayed still as Legolas walked closer and crouched in front of her, levelling their eyes. She marvelled at how silent he was. And beautiful. It was as though the whole alcove was lit only by his mere presence. A fire wouldn't have been more efficient.

"You should not hide in the shadow, little firefly," whispered the Elf. "Your beauty belongs to the Sun."

Legolas fought back a grin when he saw the bright blush quicklybllomingin her cheeks. She seemed to have even forgotten to be sad since she'd taken notice of him.

"But if you like it so much here," he added, moving to sit beside her, "than I hope you do not mind the company, for I much enjoy the idea of keeping you all to myself."

Freda shifted, blushing again very prettily. She liked him. No matter what the others said, he did not look bad or evil to her.

Legolas did not want to remind her why she'd been crying, but he had caught a whiff of a coppery scent when sitting closer to her. It was very faint, but it was still there.

Gently, he placed a finger under her chin and made her look at him.

"Why, these are tears I see on your cheeks, lovely maiden," he said softly, wanting to wince when her shy smile dropped a little, remembrance shining in her eyes. "What could possibly have one so fair feel sad?"

He waited patiently as she looked down, sincerely hoping that his lightness would prevent her from shedding anymore tears.

It was not to be so, sadly. When she looked back up, her eyes were swimming and her chin, trembling as she fought for control. Legolas tried to soothingly caress her cheek, but she crumpled at the tender touch, tears springing forth and slipping through his fingers as a strangled sob forced its way out of her lips.

Freda dropped her gaze, ashamed of her lack of restraint but unable to help it. She fisted her hands in the folds of her skirts, fighting hard for control.

The battle seemed long lost.

With a hoarse yelp of surprise, she found herself enfolded by the warrior, her nose buried in his armour clad shoulder as he soothingly caressed her hair.

The weight of shame instantly vanished and she let everything out in a wave of anger, betrayal and loneliness. He was unnaturally warm despite the heavy metal covering him, and Freda found herself more at ease in his embrace than anywhere else.

Aside from with her mother…

Feeling the quickly depleting glow of her aura, Legolas dropped his head next to hers and closed his eyes, indulging in his own childhood memories. Slowly but surely, a light scent of lilies came forth, wrapped in gentleness and care, and words began to fall from his lips.

It was a song he hadn't even guessed he knew, one he was now certain came from his mother. And, somehow, it seemed ever so fitting right now that Freda heard the calming melody, even if she might not understand the words.

The two of them were lost in this strange evading trance. None could say how long they sat in the shadow of the door, or how long Freda resisted to the inviting volutes of sleep.

But finally, her tears dried and her trembling ceased as she snuggled into the arms of this stranger she liked so much, welcoming the blanket of sleep with a wide yawn.

The elf smiled despite himself.

She looked like a wounded angel whose wings had failed to bring home.

He might not have uncovered what tormented her young mind, but at least, he had been able to provide comfort. And the scent of blood that had so worried him earlier has completely vanished, hinting that it might have been just a scratch.

Nimbly rising to his feet with her still nestled against his chest, he mused that, maybe, they were even. After all, he had bathed in her glow not so long ago. Now was her turn.

Legolas made his way back to the Caves where he knew he would find the child's undoubtedly worried relatives, doing his best to avoid crowded areas. There was no use in purposefully exposing his 'dangerously cunning' and 'evil' self with what would most likely look like an unconscious little girl in his arms. Who knows what outrageous horrors the people would come up with…

* * *

I'm so so so sorry for all of you who took the time to read and review but my life has been nothin short of hectic in the last few months. I really tried to update sooner, I swear. But my mind wasn't on the writing and I couldn't come up with anything remotely interesting. I hope you like this chapter though because I worked extra hard on it.

Once again, thanks lots to all those who reviewed. It'd awesome to know that some people really like what I do. Your opinions are very important for me. I can't believe I got such a great reaction on this piece... it really began as a shapeless try, but you guys encouraged me to keep writing. Thank you!


End file.
